Nights Awake 2.0

This is the latest generation of the NightsAwake program. The program was begun in 2002 by LJ, Luke, Frost and Xerox (Third), as an outlet for people online all night, every night. The Project is a creative outlet only, and one has already been closed because of bitching and flaming. Please keep this a creative place. Accepted formats are: Prose, narrative, or verse. Please do not directly reference any person living or dead. Be wise, be courteous, and above all, be cool.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Courtesy. THAT is what i aspire to.

A courteous man is quick to retract his own words, rather than question the words of another, a courteous man would sooner doubt the truth of his own words than the truth of another's. A courteous man considers how his appearance will make others feel, and does not protest at the appearance of others. A courteous man is honest, and respects the words of all those before him as honesty. A courteous man is quick to forgive and beg pardon for himself, and slow to point blame at another. A courteous man presents himself at face value, lest he deceive others, and assumes that others act in sheer candor, lest he distrust them. Courtesy is doing what does not profit you that another might appreciate your deed. Courtesy does not bend, does not twist, does not lean to suit motives. Courtesy dictates that one control one's own self, and neither seek to control another, nor seek to force another to control one's self. Courtesy demands total responsibility for every action, every feeling, and thought, but with the other hand, grants total control over the same. Courtesy demands mercy in justice, and justice in mercy. Courtesy demands truth, and courtesy demands Love. In these, Courtesy demands no less than the most truth and Love that any person is able to give. Above all, a courteous man always assumes that everyone he meets is being more courteous than he.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Pass-off story!

"You do not have crazy mutant powers."

"Yes-huh."

Tybalt rolled his eyes. "Saying that doesn't make it so."

"Yes-huh," said Nineveh emphatically. She glared up at her older brother. "You're stupid."

"Oh, nice." Tybalt tugged at the strap to his backpack, wishing Mom would just get the car fixed. Walking his sister to school was grating away his patience. And his already fragile social standing among the other 8th graders.

Nineveh smiled the smile so many had already learned to fear: the mischievous grin of the 7-year-old prodigy. "I'm gonna use my spooky mutant powers on that subsitute teacher who always says my name wrong."

"Oh, they're spooky now. Give him a break. No sub's got any hope of getting NIN-uh-vuh the first time."

The little girl raised an eyebrow, seemingly tugging a corner of her mouth along with it as she smirke deviously. "It's Mr. Jimbly. The guy who used to call you TY-balt."

"Oh, well then. Do your worst," Tybalt chuckled. As he said it, they rounded the hedgerow into the schoolyard. There, none other than Mr. Jimbly, wagging his finger at a boy who was walking across the top of the monkey bars, stomping fingers.

"Watch me go, Tibs." Nineveh dropped her backpack and kicked it to one side. "Hey, Jimbly!"